


Defrosting

by hayvocado



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 10:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayvocado/pseuds/hayvocado
Summary: Bucky’s not unaccustomed to nightmares.  Hell, he’s spent the better part of the last century living one.  This simple fact is what’s causing tonight’s episode to throw him for a loop.  This dream was so similar to all of the others, it had even started out as one of his recurring ones, but the twist at the end was so different.  That’s what’s got him so upset.A shudder zips up his spine as he fights down the wave of nausea he feels start to rise up.  Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky does what he can to remember.





	Defrosting

**Author's Note:**

> this is from my ongoing fic [Next Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753399/) which i haven't updated in eons but i'm working on it again and i've been rereading and reworking etc etc long story short i really liked this chapter and thought it would make a nice one shot so here u go !!!

When Bucky startles awake from his nightmares, it isn’t dramatic.  

 

There’s no yelling or flailing or scrambling for a gun or a knife.  He doesn’t lunge at the throat of the person nearest him, and he doesn’t flip tables, somehow convinced he’s in the middle of a war zone.  Maybe he’s desensitized to the horrors of the psyche, or maybe he’s just too disciplined to lose control.

 

If anything, when Bucky wakes up from a nightmare, it’s kind of like being brought out of cryostasis.  His entire body will be numb, and he won’t be able to move, but he can feel his nerve endings singing as they thaw out.  His skin is always broken out in goosebumps and he’ll be shivering, like he’s fighting off a chill, but he’ll be too hot at the same time; sweat will stick to his upper lip and forehead, plastering his hair across the back of his neck.

 

Sometimes his heart will be racing, but only if it’s because he died in the dream.  Most of the time, it’s almost like his pulse isn’t even there—little more than a weak fluttering at the base of his throat.  Usually while he waits for his body to wake up, to “defrost”, as he likes to call it, he lets his mind run back through what happened in the dream, to process it.  Doing it before he can get up or get moving allows him to be more grounded once he has his movement back again; the lines between dream and reality aren’t quite as blurred.

 

Tonight, though, this entire routine is jilted.

 

The second his eyes snap open, he knows that he’s awake, that he’s no longer in the dream, but that doesn’t stop the panic that’s coiling through his gut.  Without allowing himself enough time to regain his bearings, he swings his legs over the side of the couch and stands up on shaking legs. Swaying only slightly, Buck carries himself across his living room and down the hall to his bedroom, his heart in his throat the entire time.

 

_She’s fine, she’s safe, just checking._

 

He’s playing the words on a loop in his head until he finally makes it to the bedroom at the end of the hall, its door slightly agape.  Pushing it open, he pokes his head around the corner, squinting through the darkness and desperately trying to catch sight of her form.

 

Once his eyes land on her body, curled up tight in the center of his bed, blankets pulled up all around her head as if she were swaddling herself, Bucky finally releases the breath he didn’t even noticed he’d been holding.  He can hear her deep, even breaths, and for some reason the sound slows his heart rate back to what most would consider a healthy pace.

 

_Safe, she’s safe._

 

Exhaling shakily, Bucky ducks back through the door, pulling it back to its half-cracked position.  Leaning back against the wall of the hallway, he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and does his best to ignore the pins in needles in his legs and arms.  Jumping up from a nightmare the way he had was obviously not the best idea.

 

Buck slides down the wall until his butt hits the ground with a quiet thud.  Keeping his knees drawn up near his chest, he wraps his arms around his shins and lets his head loll forward until it’s resting against his knees.  He can’t stop _fucking_ shaking.

 

“She’s _fine_ ,” he hisses to himself, trying to calm the stampede of _what ifs_ running amuck in his brain.  Straining his ears, he refocuses on the gentle sound of her breathing, letting the noise comfort him.  “She’s fine.”

 

Bucky’s not unaccustomed to nightmares.  Hell he’s spent the better part of the last century _living_ one.  This simple fact is what’s causing tonight’s episode to throw him for a loop.  This dream was so similar to all of the others, it had even started out as one of his recurring ones, but the twist at the end was so different.  That’s what’s got him so upset.

 

A shudder zips up his spine as he fights down the wave of nausea he feels start to rise up.  Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky does what he can to remember.

 

***

 

It had been the pile nightmare, the one that haunts him the most.

 

It’s always him, all decked out in his full combat gear: tact pants, Kevlar vest, mask and goggles, with at least a dozen weapons strapped about his body.  An M4A1 Carbine in his metal hand, a 357 Derringer in his shoulder holster, one SIG-Sauer on each hip, a TEC-38 at his right thigh, and a Skorpion strapped to his back; around his belt there was four compartments in which he held his knives, as well as various low explosives.  Then there is, of course, his switchblade in his right boot, tucked in at his ankle. Always.

 

It starts with him on an assignment, one in which he’s tasked with skulking up behind a concrete building somewhere in Siberia, judging by the snow.  The cold bites at what little of his face is exposed and it just barely breaches his gear, nipping at him. The structure is huge, bare around all sides, no windows or doors aside from one large rolling shutter panel.  He’ll move towards the entryway, approaching at an angle. Flanking to the side with his gun poised, he pulls the chain with his cybernetic arm; the door rumbles open in one tug, and he moves in.

 

He always moves silently, like the ghost he was trained to be.  He’ll skim the perimeter of the structure, trying to take note of all entry and exit points, like he always does.  Quickly, he’ll realize that the building has no windows, and the only door is the one he came thr— _where’s the door?_

 

When he turns back towards the direction he came, suddenly all of the walls are smooth, and there’s no longer an exit.  Skeptical, assuming that his target is playing tricks on him, he will prepare himself, on guard. He’ll turn back towards the center of the room— _when did that mirror get there?_

 

A hulking shard of reflective glass hovers in the center of the room, and he steps closer.  He’ll catch sight of his reflection, and the sight will knock his breath away. Instead of a proper reflection, it’s an image of him in 1945.  His hair is cropped short and he’s wearing his Prussian blue Ike jacket, the same coat he was wearing when he fell from…

 

At this point in the dream, he’ll always end up stopping short, fumbling his rifle, abruptly hit with the realization that he isn’t the Winter Soldier, but that he’s Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.  Then why, he’ll question himself in a panic, is he wearing the Soldat’s gear, holding his weapons, peering through his specs.

 

The moment the realization hits, the glass will shatter and Bucky will have to cover his face and head with his arm to keep from being slashed by the flying slivers.  When he lowers his arm, the nightmare truly begins.

 

In the same spot where the mirror was sitting is now a pile of bodies.  Well, calling them bodies wouldn’t be the most accurate description, seeing as they’re all alive—at least for now.  The people in the mass are bloodied, mangled, and disfigured, all seeming to be caught in different stages of dying.  The shock will hit Bucky first, but the recognition comes hot on its heels.

 

He knows these people.

 

First, he’ll recognize Jacques and Dum Dum, two of his fellow Howling Commandos.  Both of them have gunshot wounds to their heads, right between the eyes, execution style.  After that, his eyes will find Rebecca, his sister. Her dark hair is matted with blood, and it clings to her face, obstructing his view of her, but when she jerks her head towards him, he sees that her eyes and nose are bleeding.  

 

Next, he’ll see Stevie, so small and frail, looking like a broken doll. His arms and legs are pointing all of the wrong directions, and his neck isn’t sitting right on his shoulders. He’s writhing around, trapped beneath half a dozen other people, mouth opening and closing as he tries to yell out to Bucky.  Those clear blue eyes are wide and earnest, but he’s unable to make any noise.

 

When he sees that Bucky’s noticed him, Steve will wriggle around even more, and all of a sudden, the pile comes tilting, tipping towards Bucky.  He’ll be too stunned to move, to even try to step out of the way. It all happens in slow motion, with plenty of time for him to dodge, but for some reason his feet won’t budge, and he’s fastened to the spot, watching helplessly as the mountain of his misery topples down onto him.  He gets pinned down beneath the bodies, and he can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t feel anything but the piercing sensation of dread stabbing at his lungs and throat. He can’t breathe, can’t breathe, he’s stuck, can’t breathe…

 

This is usually the point in the dream where Bucky will wake up, expelled from the dreamscape and thrown back into his body.  There’s always those first few minutes of unanticipated consciousness that feel like his brain is moving through molasses, slow and ineffective.  Despite the unpleasantness of that state of mind, it always comes as a relief, a reprieve from the seemingly endless anxiety that the dream had given him.

 

Tonight however, the dream doesn’t stop.

 

For the first time, Bucky’s able to claw his way out from underneath all of the bodies, to liberate himself from the ambush of rancid corpses.  He has to kick dozens of desperate hands off of his ankles and swallow down the vomit rising up in his throat. Dragging himself across the ground on his hands and knees, he makes his way back towards the wall that the door has reappeared on.  He’s reaching up with his left hand to pull the chain, to free himself, to escape, but suddenly she’s there.

 

She stands before him, covered in blood, sobbing.  Her whole body is wracked with jolting shivers, and he notices that all she’s wearing is a plain shirt and shorts.  Part of him wants to ask her why she’s here, why she doesn’t have on a jacket, but the stronger part of him knows that this isn’t real.  This is just a dream, he knows but he also knows that the bruises encircling her throat look _incredibly_ real, and that alone makes the panic that floods his veins even more violent.

 

Something else in Bucky’s brain registers the deviation from the usual narrative, but the terror he feels at seeing her like this snuffs the thought out like a candle.  He reaches his hand out to her, the metal one. She recoils away from him as if he’s struck her, and lets out a broken scream, tears coming faster.

 

“Why didn’t you save me, James?  He killed me!”

 

Bucky had never been able to speak in dreams like these before, but for some reason, the new scenario gifts him with his voice.

 

“No, no, no.”  His brain short circuits.   _I saved her, didn’t I?_  “No!  Doll, I got to you, I _stopped_ him,” he cries out, voice breaking.  He feels himself start to cry as well, and it’s like his whole body’s been doused in ice water.  He can’t stop shaking as he reaches out towards her again, trying to touch her, to feel that she’s real.  All she does is shrink back away from him, face contorting in disgust.

 

“Then why am I dead?”  Her words blur into each other and distort into what can only be described as a wail.  Bucky has no choice but to watch with wide eyes as she collapses to her bruised knees, clutching at her throat and gasping. _Choking, she’s choking._

 

Mustering up all of his willpower, Bucky battles to get his feet under himself and stumble towards her.  It feels like his ribs are collapsing in on themselves; he’s out of breath, he’s exhausted, his muscles are fatigued, but all he can focus on is her, getting to her.  It’s like he’s been running for years, and then he realizes that the room is stretching out at the same pace that he’s running. He can’t reach her, can’t get to her, can’t save her—

 

And then he wakes up.

 

***

 

Letting out a stifled whimper, Bucky swipes his flesh fingers across his cheek, brushing away the tears that had fallen.  He’s used to nightmares, they’re practically his default setting, but this one is getting to him in a way that he didn’t think possible anymore.  It’s unfamiliar to him, and to be honest it’s freaking him out a little.

 

Standing up and shaking out his numb legs, Buck steps back towards his bedroom door.  Nudging it open just enough to fit through, he squeezes into the room and moves to stand against the wall closest to the foot of the bed.  He leans his head back until it thumps against the wall, but keeps his eyes trained on her, focusing on the rise and fall of her side. If he strains enough, he can hear her heartbeat, gentle and steady.  The consistency of it soothes him.

 

Bucky stays like that for admittedly longer than socially acceptable—as if watching someone sleep for any amount of time is appropriate—and he’s only broken from his stupor when she shifts, rolling over and mumbling something indiscernible in her sleep.  The movement pushes the blankets down from where she’d had them tucked under her chin, leaving her back and arms exposed to the cold.

 

At first, he doesn’t do anything, just stays where he is.  The rational part of his brain is telling him to leave, so he doesn’t end up standing there when she wakes up and have to explain why he was watching her in the first place.  He’s already halfway turned around to leave, but then she shivers and something in his chest tugs him towards her sleeping form. It’s like he’s not in control of his body, as if he’s watching himself from above, when his flesh arm reaches out and pulls the blanket back up over her shoulder.

 

He watches, mesmerized, as she snuggles down further beneath the edge of the blanket, hiding half of her face behind it.  Her fingers brush his when she clutches the fabric and pull it closer to herself and Bucky has to restrain himself from recoiling from her touch.  A snapshot of the way she looked in his dream, covered in blood and choking, flashes behind his eyes and he gasps quietly, stumbling half a step back.

 

_No, she’s safe.  She’s right there, she’s safe._

 

With a steadying breath, Bucky strides back over toward the bedroom door, pausing again to take in the sight of her.  He’s employing each and every brain cell to commit the scene to memory so he can lock it away whenever he needs a dose of sunshine.

 

She has the smallest of smiles on her face, and it nearly takes his breath away.  He’s never seen her so utterly tranquil, and he can only imagine how incredible it would be to see her like this all the time.  He wishes he could draw so he could sketch this and frame it, to look back on and treasure. If nothing else, he’ll fill a page of his journal with words for emotions that this moment is making him feel.

 

Bucky slinks back through the door, and before pulling it all the way closed, he allows himself one last look at her.  With a fond smile gracing his features, he nods determinedly, something new and warm bubbling up in his chest.

 

“I’m gonna keep you safe, doll.  I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> if ur here from next door.... i'm so sorry i promise i'll update it soon i just am having so much trouble with it and writer's block kills. reworking this piece is helping me get back into writing mode so fingers crossed i update before like... the end of the year idk i'm a mess
> 
> anyways thanks for reading ilu all lmk what u thought !!! <3


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